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For a brief second, her features pull together, my question making her doubt her own mind. “I’m trying to trust that you’ll take care to answer all my questions as you guide me along the way.”
My eyes close at her reply. So fucking perfect. My cock throbs with the need to reward her. When I look at her again, I’m decided. I’m taking her to The Firm tonight.
“I will, temptress,” I say. “I’ll teach you everything.”
Our gazes stay locked as I imagine the ways in which I’ll train her. Then I point to her plate, anxious to get started. “Finish.”
As she does as told, I ask, “How did you first hear about the position at Lark and Gannet?” I know the answer, but this is for her benefit. To put the pieces together herself.
Placing a hand over her mouth—so dainty and ladylike—she swallows. “An internship. I was with another firm, one I started at right out of college, and I applied for the internship at Lark and Gannet.” She shrugs.
I shove my plate aside and turn to face her. “You were interviewed?” She wasn’t. She didn’t need to be. The Firm gets first look at all applications into the internship, which there are three levels. The one she applied to was not for the law firm. Where paralegals and first year lawyers hope to enter and move up through the company.
The internship Alexis was approved for meant h
er background was scoured. No simple credit checks or phone calls to previous employers. No, the partners invasively peeled back the cover of her life and read it layer-by-layer, page-by-page, as if it were a scandalous tabloid.
She shakes her head at this, a furrow forming between her brows. Already, it’s starting to sink in. She probably even wonders why she never questioned our methods before. “I wasn’t. I was sent a formal invitation to start the internship.”
I cock an eyebrow. “And your mentor?”
“Julia? What about her?”
Laying my hand on her knee, I rub her soft skin. I’m just simply unable to deny myself the feel of her. “During your first month, did any of Julia’s training feel…less than professional? Invasive, even?”
She shivers beneath my touch, and I attempt to sooth her with the stroke of my thumb. “She was strange,” she admits. “But it was my first internship, and she was just more outgoing than me. Everyone is more outgoing than me.” She glances away.
It’s more than that, though. Julia puts the girls through a rigorous testing procedure. The results are then scrutinized to be the deciding factor on whether the intern is advanced into The Firm.
Most of them fail. It’s more than a safeguard; it’s imperative to the survival of the partners. Only a select number are advanced at any given time, and the rest are either let go, told there are no openings, or they’re allowed to stay on as fun little playthings.
Alexis became neither.
The reason for that decision: me.
Once I reviewed her results, simply out of curiosity, I put in my first vote ever. This did more than pique the partners’ interest; it put a target on her back. I took it upon myself to ensure she was left alone. Which is likely where my obsession with her began.
“You should listen to your gut instinct,” I say, then take a swallow of coffee. “You felt something wasn’t right with your training, and yet stayed on. For a year, no less.”
Her slender fingers fidget with the hem of her dress. “I often feel out of place, and I had nothing to base a comparison on.” She looks at me, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks with each nervous blink. “I had never worked at a large law firm before.”
“And when offered an entry position,” I say, rising from my chair. “You accepted. Without questions. Without reservation. Without complaint.” I push her knees apart and settle there, cupping her thighs. “You accepted a lower position than you’re qualified for because you needed the money.”
“Yes.”
The softly uttered word hangs in the air between us, a testament to her docile nature. Regardless if the truth of her circumstance is painful, or even humbling, she accepts it.
I make small swirls along her skin, my fingertips tracing the rising gooseflesh as if her body is revealing a story to be read by my hands alone. I do know the story—the one documented with facts on a timeline—but it’s simply not enough. I want to learn the intimate details that only she can provide.
“You keep to yourself at work.” My hands inch up, taking the hem of her dress with them. “But I’ve seen you watching me. When you think no one is paying attention, when I’m preoccupied, I’ve felt your eyes on me.”
This causes her to shudder, and she tries to flinch away, as if my touch is too invasive—but it’s my words that evoke her panic.
“I’m sor—” she breaks off, stopping herself from apologizing, and I smile.
“You were curious,” I offer.
“Yes.”
